Retrouvaille
by The DG Forum
Summary: In which Draco Malfoy is acting strange and is probably up to something, and no that is NOT paranoid thinking on Ginny Weasley's behalf. Irritable!Ginny, Aloof!Malfoy, i.e., the usual Hogwarts-era D/G.
1. Electricity

This story was written for **Lia (chromeknickers)** in _**The DG Forum Fic Exchange - Winter 2016**_ by a member of our forum. For more details please visit our page.

* * *

 **Retrouvaille**

~.~.~

 **Chapter One: Electricity**

Mondays straight up sucked, reflected Ginny Weasley.

Double Potions, Arithmancy, Runes...good grief.

She'd been offered a partial medical leave, but she'd refused to reduce her course load mostly on principle; this illness had already taken Quidditch away from her, and she would be damned if she budged another inch.

Pausing by the third floor corridor window, Ginny peered out into the gloom of the rainy autumn evening, oblivious to the pre-dinner crowd that surrounded her. There was nothing much to see out there with the curtain of rain steadily pounding against the glass, but she'd give anything to be outside right now, on the pitch for practice with her brother and teammates, where she belonged.

At the thought of Quidditch something in her sunk. She'd just left Madam Pomfrey's, and the damning verdict had been upheld: mounting a broom was "out of the question."

"Old bat," Ginny muttered uncharitably. Her stupid hat and stray little mustache hairs were 'out of the question'. Pfft.

Ginny resumed her trek in the direction of the Great Hall, hoping that the house-elves had rustled up something tasty.

 _If I see boiled liver one more time I will positively screa-_

Suddenly her entire body tensed, jaw clenching of its own accord.

The headaches would sometimes come abruptly. The dull aching often gathered at the base of her skull before morphing into a viciously throbbing burst of electricity, spreading through her skull with unrelenting speed. The feeling was all consuming, enough to make bile rise up her throat, the edges of her vision blurring, her body tilting sideways of its own accord… In a moment such as this, the cool contact of a hand around her wrist, the solidity of the figure she couldn't help but lean into, seemed to her like a godsend.

"Thanks," she murmured, her voice small. "Migraines…"

She blinked back tears, daring to raise her eyes to those of her saviour, slowly lest she trigger another round of unforgiving throbbing in her temple _—_ when quite suddenly she recoiled in horror, almost falling back in her hurry to withdraw.

Ill-humored, lean and raven-haired, wrapped in dark cloth that contrasted starkly against the paleness of his skin: _Snape._

Had she been able to trust her senses in this moment, Ginny would have sworn that the dark-eyed Potions Master had _flinched_ , clearly surprised at the disgust that had flashed across her face.

He released her wrist as if her touch burned him, straightening the already implacable line of his shoulders as he rapidly withdrew from her.

"Perhaps a visit to the Infirmary is in order, Miss Weasley," he said curtly. Without sparing her another glance he withdrew, disappearing into the throng of students lining the busy corridor.

"Are... are you alright, Ginny?"

She turned to find the concerned brown eyes of Neville Longbottom gazing down at her and opened her mouth to answer, but something caught her eye from behind her friend's shoulder.

A flash of green and silver glinting under the overhead lamps. The pale face of the perfectly arrogant, perfectly coiffed Draco Malfoy, glowing wholesomely in the aftermath of the Drying Charm he had just performed. He sported immaculate Quidditch gear, his state-of-the-art broom casually swung over one shoulder. He stood there as if posing for a fashion catalogue. He was, as per usual, flanked on either side by the less fortunate looking Crabbe and Goyle.

He deigned to meet her gaze from across the corridor, and Ginny silently hated him for being able to even mount a broom, let alone play Quidditch.

The hint of a sneer marred the symmetry of Malfoy's features if only for a moment. Just as quickly he was gone, sauntering off with his cronies in tow.

Ginny stared after him, head throbbing, still shaken. Something about his gaze...something _—_ _Ron._ Yes, that was it! She'd have to ask Ron about _—_

"— _Ginny?"_ The edge of concern in Neville's voice was unmistakable now, and the redhead made sure to arrange her features into a reassuring smile.

"Yeah...Sorry Neville." She gripped her books tighter as if she could will the aching away. "Just another migraine."

~.~.~

"No bloody way. She said Quidditch is out of the question, Ginny," her brother was saying between mouthfuls of green bean casserole. His bright red hair and rumpled practice clothes were dripping with water, and she envied him for it in spite of her best judgment.

"Can you imagine if you got one of those headaches and fell off your broom?" he went on, helping himself to more pie.

Ginny huffed. "But what if I rode behind you, on your room?"

"Gods, Gin. You're such a maniac." Ron snorted. "If something happened to you, Mum would murder me in cold blood."

Ginny huffed some more, shifting carrots around her plate with the edge of her fork. "Whatever." She realized then that he hadn't really said no _—_ in fact, she felt sure she'd be able to talk her brother into letting her have a spin on his broom at some point. The thought cheered her some.

"Out of the question, Ginny," Hermione admonished from across her, her eyes never leaving her thick library tome.

For heaven's sake, was she really that transparent? If it hadn't been for her headache, Ginny would have rolled her eyes.

"Ron," she said suddenly, turning to her brother. "Was that _Malfoy_ I saw you chatting with outside of the Great Hall? Again?"

Ron gulped down a mouthful. "Huh? Uh, yeah? I guess."

"THE Draco Malfoy," Ginny pressed, incredulous. "Slytherin's official ferret mascot? What on earth would the two of you have to talk about two days in a row? Are you looking for tips on how to be an uppity douche?"

Her brother snorted. "Geez, Gin. You can be pretty mean sometimes, you know that?"

Ginny gaped, looking in consternation from her brother to the impassive Hermione.

Uh...sure. She could be mean. In fact, ever since her migraines had taken over her life she'd turned into some kind of a prickly, fire-breathing beast, and just this morning had made poor Lindsey MacMillan cry with an ill-timed observation about her penchant for discussing cute boy's bums _—_ but Malfoy? Ron was calling _her_ out in defense of Draco Malfoy, former junior Death Eater? Was this still the same world she usually lived in?

"Bloke's a decent Wizard's Chess player," Ron went on, ignoring the way his sister's eyes nearly jumped out of their sockets. "We served detention together last week and ended up playing a hand or two. He's really not so bad."

Ginny turned to Hermione once more, but the brunette's eyes stayed stubbornly glued to her textbook, though her eyebrows did lift almost imperceptibly.

Gah, so frustrating that Hermione and her brother had broken up and were in that "carefully courteous" stage of resuming their friendship; Hermione could no longer be counted on for tag-teaming her brother. And where was Harry when you needed him?

"I can't believe what I'm hearing," Ginny muttered, her eyes seeking out the ferret mascot in question. She found him at the Slytherin table, entrenched between Blaise Zabini and Goyle, silvery blond hair catching the light in a most annoying way. He was smirking into his goblet, looking very pleased indeed. Ginny remembered their wordless little exchange from earlier, and wondered what he was up to. What could he possibly want with Ron, of all people? An odder couple couldn't be conceived of - except maybe Malfoy and Harry.

"Eh, the War is over," Ron was saying, oblivious. "Time to move on, don't you think?"

And there it was again, exploding from behind her eyes _—_ searing red hot pain crackling through her head like electricity. She closed her eyes for a moment, not daring to so much as draw breath.

After some moments the brutal aching receded, a throbbing dullness left in its wake. Thanking her stars, Ginny loosened her death grip around her fork.

More than anything she hated the looks of concern on people's faces _—_ the questioning, the worry, the tension in their faces. And the hovering, the endless hovering. Her brother, her friends _—_ even that bastard, Snape _—_ it was as if they expected that at any minute she would crack and they would have to be on hand to pick up the pieces. And perhaps she would, one day, but not right now.

With any luck her little moment of anguish had gone unnoticed. Ron was still prattling on, and Hermione would be engrossed in her book. With any luck...

When she opened her eyes, he was gazing at her from across the Great Hall. Pale eyes of a shade she had never been able to decipher set in an angular, striking face, gazing at her steadily with neither wonder nor compassion. In fact, Draco Malfoy looked almost bored, and she thanked him silently for not mustering up even one fuck to give in the face of her agony.

The irony of it all was almost too much.

* * *

 **Lia's Prompt (2)**

 **Basic Premise:** Ron and Draco start hanging out together. Ginny does not know what to think of this. Witchcraft? Body Snatchers? A sign of the apocalypse?

 **Must Haves:** Humour. Amateur sleuthing. An irrational and distrusting Ginny.

 **No-No's:** No evil Harry or Hermione.

 **Rating Range:** K-T.

 **Bonus Points:** Ginny knocks Draco out cold.


	2. Warmth

**Retrouvaille**

 **~.~.~**

 **Chapter Two: Warmth**

Ron and Malfoy were meeting up in the library almost every night. She'd watched them covertly from a corner table, surprised to see that they really were playing Wizard's Chess _—_ and speaking in hushed voices. She'd tried to listen in on a few occasions, but to no avail. Slytherin as he was, Malfoy was prepared for the possibility of eavesdroppers and had apparently cast a preemptive Muffling Charm around his table.

Suspicious. _Very suspicious_ ; at least to Ginny. No one else seemed truly concerned, not even Harry.

"I'm not one for Wizard's Chess these days," he'd told her yesterday at lunch. "I'm glad Ron found someone to play a few rounds with now and then. I hear Malfoy's quite good."

"But-but...Harry, that's not the point!" she'd practically yelled before remembering to lower her voice, lest Ron hear. "It's Malfoy we're talking about. _Draco Malfoy_ , evil git. Hello?"

The occasionally infuriating Boy-Who-Lived had merely shrugged. "The War's over, Gin." He'd gone on to talk about the Chudley Cannons' odds of winning the Cup this year, oblivious to how close he'd come to getting a face-full of treacle tart courtesy of the irate redhead by his side.

Hermione wasn't any more help. Her main goal these days seemed to be to avoid Ron and his back-on love interest, the insufferable Lavender Brown.

"I don't know, Gin. I think it's kind of adorable that they're setting aside their differences. Besides, when was the last time Malfoy did something truly evil? He's really mellowed out, hasn't he?"

The redhead scoffed, turning to glare in the direction of the Slytherin table—where Draco Malfoy was already looking at her. Jolted, she jumped in her chair, quickly looking away before gathering the resolve to look back at him again. But he'd turned away, already in conversation with Theodore Nott.

"He's a vicious toad," she muttered. "Remember when he kidnapped Crookshanks and sent ransom notes? Or when he laced the punch bowl at the last ball with Firewhisky?"

Hermione raised her eyebrows, and Ginny knew her friend thought she was reaching. But she wasn't. OK, so playing stupid pranks wasn't exactly evil on par with Death Eating, but still. There was something about Malfoy that she found profoundly objectionable. And the fact that he was inordinately hot somehow made it all the worse.

Wait. _What?_

Ugh, maybe she really was going crazy.

~.~.~

Headaches every day, but there was no relief to be found in sleep. Pomfrey had given her a supply of Sleeping Draught back in her first year, when she'd been as desperate to sleep as she'd been terrified, haunted in dreams by memories of unspeakable evil.

Ginny had gone to her to beg for the sleeping potion this time, but the old cow had refused, claiming that the Draught would temporarily relieve her sleep, but at the expense of making her migraines worse.

And so she lay in bed, floating in between a state of stupor and lucidity. When at last she slept it was amid formless dreams and vague recollections that left her mind in a daze on waking.

One dream in particular seemed to be recurring.

 _A flash of white light, blinding her before all went dark... The explosion of pain… The sensation of plummeting down into empty space…_

Every morning she woke up with a jolt, tangled in her sheets, covered in cold sweat. Another day in paradise.

~.~.~

Her morning routine no longer included flying practice before classes, but it did include three different potions to take before breakfast, courtesy of the mediwizards at St. Mungo's. Her mother had taken her to consult there a few weeks ago, when the headaches first started. (Was it really a few weeks? Things seemed so blurry sometimes that it was hard to tell. It felt like this had been part of her life forever.) Every few days she would also receive an Owl from Molly Weasley, inquiring about her health.

And perhaps what was worst of all, the newest addition to her routine were the headaches upon awakening. Clutching at her temple, Ginny descended towards the Great Hall, taking note of the glances people seemed to give her, the hushed whispers that seemed to accompany her. Perhaps this was really all in her imagination, but she doubted it. People seemed to know that something was wrong, and part of her hated them for it.

On rounding the corner towards the entrance of the Great Hall, she was only half surprised to find her brother in conference with his new Slytherin bestie. She couldn't see her brother's face, but Draco Malfoy stood across from him with his arms folded, sharp features unusually animated as he spoke to Ron with more vehemence than she normally associated with him. One might say that he looked almost angry.

What was going on here? What on earth could they be speaking about? She burned with curiosity, with the need to _know_.

Edging closer to them, careful to stay hidden behind a gaggle of annoying third years, she strained her ears to hear, hoping to catch whatever the blond was saying if by chance he'd neglected to cast a Muffling Charm.

" _...Do you think you're doing enough? I'm very concerned about…"_

Blast it all _—_ were people always this loud? She could hardly hear her own thoughts, let alone eavesdrop in peace.

From over the shoulder of a Hufflepuff, Ginny watched her brother's back tense, his finger up in Malfoy's face in a way that was almost accusing.

"— _j_ _ust as much as you do, if not more, Draco."_ Ron sounded mad too.

And wait a minute _—_ DRACO? Her brother called Malfoy by his given name? "What the F _—_ "

"GINNY!" a loud voice rang shrilly as Ron's annoying new girlfriend popped up beside her, taking hold of Ginny's arm.

Malfoy's pale eyes shifted to her immediately, his face a mask, and Ginny tried not to squirm. Ron also turned to look, his eyes nervously darting from Ginny to the figure of Lavender Brown, and back to Ginny again.

For a moment no one spoke. The redhead in question stared back at the boys, trying to understand what was transpiring between them. Malfoy continued to stare at her intently, as if waiting for her to say something. Looking back at him, Ginny had the distinct impression that she was an actor who'd forgotten their line. That seemed to happen a lot these days.

"Eavesdropping, Weasley?" he inquired at last, his voice deep and low. He approached her slowly, his movements almost predatory. Once again she felt almost caught in his stare, for a moment feeling physically unable to look away.

"Did you hear anything of interest?" The Slytherin's face was devoid of expression, his voice casual, but there was something in his eyes, those depthless pools of grey _—_ an intensity there that seemed to call out to something in her. Ginny felt as if he was asking another question entirely, but she didn't know what it was.

"What do you want with Ron?" she demanded, straightening to her full height as she withdrew her arm from Lavender's. "You're not fooling me with this Wizard's Chess crap, I know you must have some kind of agenda."

"Ginny please," Ron snapped with a sniff, gesturing with his hands in an un-Ron way.

"I want to know what's going on. What does he want?" she demanded, pointing at the Slytherin and going so far as to stomp her foot on the ground before wincing at the suddenly brutal pain behind her eyes.

"Are you alright?" both Ron and Lavender asked at once, while Malfoy merely watched her from behind unfathomable eyes.

Ginny ignored the question, her eyes trained on Malfoy's as he continued to gaze back at her. It was he who finally turned away, nodding at Ron curtly before walking away without so much as a word to her.

She realized then that he'd never answered her question.

~.~.~

Ron had denied that anything strange was going on, of course. He straight up denied that she had heard him and Malfoy arguing about anything other than Quidditch. "He's crazy about Falmouth," her brother had sniffed. "He's _concerned_ about how their season is going. He wonders if they're _doing enough_ about their scouting pool, OK? Bloody hell, Ginny. Since when are you so nosy?" He sniffed again.

Ginny stared. "Why are you doing this?" -she sniffed demonstratively- "What's that about?"

Ron scoffed. "I have a cold, Ginny. What's wrong with you?" He sniffed again.

"A cold? First I hear of that." Ginny looked at her brother's nose, took in his weird tension, his irritability...Her eyes widened.

 _Oh no. Oh no. Please not..._ Drugs! It had to be _drugs._

 _Ohmygoodness my brother is a drug addict._

This was all _his_ fault! _Malfoy!_ He had to be behind this!

"Gin? Hello, earth to Ginny?" Ron was waving his hand across her face. He sniffed again.

"I have to go," she replied, turning on her heel and rushing towards the library as fast as her migraine would allow.

~.~.~

At lunchtime she pondered further. Was it really possible that Draco Malfoy was dealing drugs at Hogwarts? Could that explain Ron's sudden and quite bizarre weakness for the enigmatic Slytherin? This was more than a bromance; there had to be something bigger involved. Something...nefarious.

She'd gone straight to the library after her encounter with Ron this morning. She'd looked up the signs of drug addiction, and more than ever she was convinced that this was a real possibility.

Ron seemed so wound up lately, so shifty. He was irritable, he was acting strangely (I mean, if befriending Malfoy wasn't strange, what was?), he was sniffing a lot, and he seemed twitchy.

Right?

"Does Ron look more twitchy to you?" she whispered to Harry, who regarded her oddly before turning back to his shepherd's pie with a muttered "No?"

And once again there was Malfoy looking at her from across the Great Hall. She glared at him with all her might until he finally looked away. She would get to the bottom of this at any cost.

~.~.~

Eight o'clock, the Quidditch pitch. It seemed that Ron was in need of another hit, as he and Malfoy had agreed to rendezvous by the stands. Ginny had been tailing her brother all day, for once using her headaches as an excuse to miss her afternoon lessons. When she'd seen her brother covertly leave the castle after dinner she'd quickly followed, knowing that she'd found her chance.

Her headache was killing her, but for the moment she was able to set it aside. She watched from behind the stands as her brother approached the blond Slytherin.

Malfoy was wearing a black jumper, Quidditch gloves and distractingly well fitting trousers. He had his broom with him, and was looking left and right as Ron approached.

Suspicious! _Very suspicious!_

This was not looking good. Part of her thought she might be overreacting, but all the signs pointed to her being right. By Merlin, she was really looking forward to punching Malfoy right in the nose. She might punch her brother too, for being so daft.

The boys met and exchanged fist bumps. Ginny mentally rolled her eyes, because doing it for real would have hurt too much.

She strained to hear, but that damned Malfoy had already cast his Muffling Charm. He glanced around once more before speaking, and Ginny squinted to see when he reached into his pocket.

There it was! He was actually pulling out some kind of pouch. He was opening it and handing it over to her brother. Merlin's balls...she'd seen all she needed to see.

With a strangled cry she leapt from behind the stands, clenching her teeth against the throbbing in her temples. Malfoy and Ron stared, dumbfounded, as she descended upon them.

"What is this? What IS IT?" she demanded shrilly, ripping the pouch from Malfoy's gloved hands.

Ignoring the boys' shocked looks she tore through the soft material frantically, expecting to find _—_ anything but candy.

"TOFFEE? You're giving him TOFFEE?" she demanded accusingly, as the brightly wrapped sweets spilled to the ground.

"Yeah?" Malfoy actually looked shaken for once. "It's for his cough...he has a cold. What did you think I'd give him _—_ cocaine?"

Ginny blushed profusely, somehow knowing that her face would be matching the color of her hair.

"Uhhh...no? No! I...Of course not."

 _Gods, I really am losing my mind..._

"Ginny…" Ron said softly, his face showing genuine concern before scrunching up to let out a violent sneeze. "Sorry, I've got a cold."

Ginny flinched. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she muttered, clutching at her head. "I'm...I thought. Never mind what I thought. You must think I'm daft."

The Slytherin snorted before hopping on his broom in a single fluid motion, one that she couldn't help but envy as well as admire.

"Well you finally got something right didn't you, Weasley?" In spite of Malfoy's remark, there was no real bite to his voice. In fact, if she hadn't been feeling so crazy at the moment she might have said there was a hint of warmth in it.

Malfoy nodded at Ron before floating up into the air. He was poised to fly away, but seemed to think better of it. He deigned to spare her a glance, pausing as if to see if she had more to do or say.

Ginny scoured her aching brain for a witty retort, a few parting shots to offer the blond, but the throbbing was too much, finally having caught up with her.

Floating in the night air, with his hair whipped about by the night breeze, Malfoy's pale gaze visibly softened and she imagined he was looking down at her with something like... _pity._

" _You bastard, don't you dare."_ Ginny's eyes swam with tears as unknown to her she gave the Slytherin her best Molly Weasley glare. " _Not you… Please…. not you as well."_

Malfoy's pale eyebrows raised as fraction of an inch, almost as if he had heard.

"With that unfortunate hair color you really shouldn't glare so hard, Weasley. Your entire head looks like an overripe tomato," he commented disdainfully, but once again there was that surprising hint of warmth in his deep voice.

Ginny laughed in spite of the electric hits assaulting her brain, as Malfoy shot up into the cold winter air with more virile grace than should be allowed a boy of seventeen.

She watched him fly off, her wet eyes clinging to the picture he cut against the backdrop of clouds and stars, to the way the moon chose to glint off his white-blond hair. For one crazy moment she could imagine herself flying off with him, sitting astride his lofty Firebolt, arms wrapped around his waist, chin resting on the spot where his shoulder and neck joined as her cheek nestled against the warmth and softness of his pale skin…

The feeling enveloped her so strongly that it was almost a certainty, like a memory more than an insane scenario drawn up by her overactive imagination.

"Uh…Gin?"

She opened her eyes to find the surprised face of her brother, who had recovered from another round of sneezes.

"Yeah…"

"Migraine," Ron finished for her.


	3. Realization

**Retrouvaille**

~.~.~

 **Chapter Three: Realization**

Ginny Weasley sat at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, for once preoccupied more with her thoughts than with her vague migraine, and trying her hardest not to let her eyes stray to a silvery blond head sitting several tables away.

OK so she was willing to acknowledge that Draco Malfoy might not be a drug dealer—but he was definitely up to something, and odds were it probably wasn't good. Of that she was certain.

In spite of her humiliating turn playing the part of Hysterical Infirm a few days back, she would not be deterred.

Yes, she was still more or less determined to get to the bottom of this (after finishing her ice cream) and to that end she had dusted off her Extendable Ears.

Ginny knew that she had already screwed up by appearing overly interested in the boys' activities, and she would now need to feign disinterest to throw off their suspicions. She decided to pretend to totally ignore them both, until such a time came when she could eavesdrop in piece.

She had her opportunity to test this new approach shortly after lunch. For reasons that were as of yet unclear, on this first time encountering Malfoy after The Toffee Candy Incident, her stomach decided it wanted to do a weird flop. She took in the sight of him walking towards her in the corridor, and quite suddenly it seemed too much for her to handle. Her eyes quickly darted all over him, taking in every detail of his appearance, and an intense heat began spread through her cheeks.

But at the last minute she totally managed to reign it all in, staring straight ahead as he walked by her, ignoring the feel of his gaze on her, ignoring even the low " _Weasley,"_ he'd uttered. But then he actually reached out, grasping her wrist in his hand, his touch making goosebumps break out all over her flesh.

"Are you alright?" he'd inquired sharply, his pale eyes piercing hers. "You look all...red. Are you ill?"

Ginny stared up at him, utterly caught in his stare. Something about Draco Malfoy's gaze had always been so very striking to her, and for a moment she had trouble getting her lips to work.

"I'm fine, Malfoy," she said coldly, when she was able to speak at last. Withdrawing her wrist from his grasp, she raised her eyebrows as she returned his gaze. "Perfectly fine. Thank you."

And with that she scurried away, trying to ignore the wild beating of her heart.

Score: Weasley.

Totally ignored: Draco Malfoy.

And yet...Truth be told, she couldn't help but glance back at him briefly after she'd gotten some ways away. She discovered a certain greasy-haired Potions master already in hushed conversation with the blond Slytherin, and he appeared to be harshly admonishing his star pupil.

Ginny stared for a moment longer, taking an involuntary step back when the Potions master cast a withering glare in her direction. For a moment he too seemed surprised to find her staring back at him, but he turned away smoothly so that she almost doubted that he had looked at her to begin with. Except he had. He really had.

Maybe she was losing her sanity… She'd read all about ideas of reference when she was investigating Ron's drug addiction. It was totally crazy to believe that everything somehow had to do with you, that you were the reason why people stared, and the reason why people whispered to each other in hallways. And yet she knew it to be true, with a certainty that frightened her.

~.~.~

Her second chance to show Draco Malfoy just how much she totally did not care came the next day. Her brother and his Slytherin BFF were heading down to dinner when she overtook them with ease—OK never mind, her legs were far shorter, so she'd had to walk briskly...the point is that she overtook them and called out a casual, "Hey Won Won," to her brother, and gave a pointed look with raised eyebrows to Malfoy, who merely rolled his eyes. She continued in her progress into the Great Hall without even bothering to try to hear what the two were saying, and without glancing at Malfoy's bum again.

If their patterns were to be trusted, Malfoy and Ron were going to meet at the pitch tonight for one-on-one practice, and she would be able to overhear to her heart's content then.

After eating a bit of soup and a lot of chocolate cake (which was totally forbidden per Madame Pomfrey's "Migraine Diet", but the old cow could suck it and die for all Ginny cared), Ginny excused herself from dinner, saying that her migraine had returned. In fact this was shaping up to be her first entirely headache free day in ages. And in fact she was going to the Quidditch pitch to pick her perfect eavesdropping spot.

Some thirty minutes later Ron and Malfoy arrived on the field, suspiciously without brooms. _Ah-ha!_

Ginny watched from her vantage point hidden behind the stands as Malfoy cast a quick look around, and she did not take note of the way his hair caught the moonlight. The important thing was he wouldn't expect her to try the same crazy stunt again...she was counting on that.

Her hunch turned out to be right. From a distance she couldn't hear what was being said, but she could see that once again the Slytherin boy appeared agitated. Ron on the other hand was no longer angry; in fact, he appeared to be appeasing the blond, communicating with his hands the international gesture of "Steady there."

Ginny hastened to inch her Extendable Ears along the grass, using her wand to slowly guide the appendage in the boys' general direction. She had already used an excellent Disllusionment Charm to camouflage the normally flesh-colored ears and cords. Wand work was her strong suit, and she noted with pleasure that even the unusually sharp-eyed Malfoy was none the wiser as to the slowly approaching fake ears.

At last she was able to pick up something…

"I know this is hard, mate," Ron was saying, his tone commiserating. "It's hard for all of us, but…"

Muffled! Blast it all, so close...Ginny strained to hear, adjusting the earpiece while slowly inching the Extendable Ears further along.

Malfoy was speaking now, and again she was alarmed to see how distressed he appeared. He was pacing up and down the clearing, pausing to cover his eyes with a trembling hand, his voice muffled so that she could barely hear, but it's tone surprising her for its softness and vulnerability. And then…

"This is _torture..._ I don't know—I don't know if I can do this, Ron. Help me...please…"

The note of absolute hurt in his normally haughty, deep voice was enough to make something in Ginny's chest ache sharply, as if the tip of a broomstick were being jabbed into the space between her heart and her lungs.

Stunned, Ginny hastily took off the ear pieces, letting the now flesh-colored tubes fall at her feet in the grass. She flattened her back against the base of the stands, her heart galloping away in her chest. Once more she knew with a certainty that she couldn't explain that she ought not be hearing this, for his sake as much as for her own.

Overcome by a profound sadness that she couldn't begin to comprehend, she slid down to the floor, hugging her knees to herself as she waited in blessed silence for the moment she could head back to the castle.

~.~.~

At night she dreamt. Sometimes she had the same dream of falling, the flash of light and the sensation of emptiness as the ground rushed to meet her.

Sometimes she dreamt of Draco Malfoy, and of her mother, and Madame Pomfrey, and of Tom Riddle, and she would wake up with her heart racing and her cheeks wet with tears.

Tonight she dreamt of the Quidditch pitch broken into pieces like a jigsaw puzzle. In her dream she knew exactly where the missing piece was hidden. It was in Draco Malfoy's pocket, and all she need do was fish it out. But she couldn't.

~.~.~

The Slytherin was now more or less a fixture in Ron's life. They continued to meet frequently for Wizard's Chess in the library, and occasionally for one-on-one flying practice.

To Ginny's surprise, both boys had made clear in their own way that she was welcome to join them.

"I think you can eavesdrop better if you actually sit at our table, Weasley," was Malfoy's graciously extended invitation at the library. It was rare for him to speak directly to her, and something in her fluttered with pleasure when their eyes met. For a moment she wondered if he knew about her latest sleuthing stint, but somehow she knew that he was none the wiser. And as for that, she'd decided to give up trying to figure out their mystery; they were welcome to be as enigmatic as they wished. It really didn't concern her, did it?

She did end up joining their table that day, and was surprised to note that the boys barely exchanged words. No doubt there was some secret the two of them shared. Even so, Ron seemed to be genuinely comfortable in the Slytherin's company, and Ginny suspected part of the allure was avoiding Lavender Brown, who was rather clingy as girlfriends went. Apparently Malfoy wouldn't abide by her "infernal chatter—no offense mate," so his time with Ron was a blessedly Lavender-free zone.

In a strange twist, lately Ginny and Hermione joined in to do their homework while the boys played chess, all sharing the same library table with natural ease. While he seemed completely indifferent to her, often Ginny found her eyes straying to the figure of the blond, going over his sharp, symmetrical features and admiring the easy grace with which he held himself. She liked to listen to him speak; there was something pleasing and almost soothing about his low, unexpectedly deep voice.

~.~.~

Her headaches were happening less often. She could almost go an entire day now without succumbing to paralyzing pain. She figured that with any luck she would soon be allowed to mount a broom. Ginny couldn't be sure how long it'd been since she'd flown; whenever she tried to remember specific details about the near past reality would take on a fuzzy, blurred quality. It was almost like a barrier had been unequivocally raised between her life before and after the migraines, and she could no longer be certain of time.

She had a standing appointment with Pomfrey on Fridays before dinner. Either Hermione or Ron would accompany her on these visits; mostly for moral support, given that the inflexible Pomfrey wouldn't let them past the door of her examination room.

"My turn today," Ron announced as he, Malfoy, and Ginny left the Great Hall. "Hermione's proctoring detention."

"You don't have to come, Ron," Ginny protested halfheartedly, already knowing that he would insist; what surprised her was Malfoy's assertion that he would join in as well, as he had nothing better to do.

Ginny looked at the Slytherin questioningly, watching as he undid his tie and slipped it into the back pocket of his well made trousers.

He wanted to go with her to the Infirmary?

A flutter of something like hope danced somewhere in her belly for reasons she couldn't quite comprehend. The blond was gazing back at her with the utmost indifference reflected in his admittedly pretty eyes, adding to her confusion on the matter.

Wordlessly they fell into step, walking side by side along the corridor, with Ron following closely behind. She could feel the eyes of people on them as they walked by, but there was nothing really new about that, was there? The hushed whispers of some of the Slytherin girls was almost like background music to her at this point. Regardless, there was something about walking beside Malfoy that felt weirdly familiar, perhaps even comfortable. Her hand almost wanted to reach over and clasp his of its own accord. But that would be crazy.

Soon enough they were in the waiting room of the Infirmary, Ron sitting beside Ginny, and Malfoy sitting across them, somehow arranging his long, beautiful limbs in a way that conveyed casual elegance.

"What are _you_ doing here, Mr. Malfoy?" Madame Pomfrey demanded on emerging from her lair, the obvious edge of alarm in her voice striking Ginny as odd.

The blond turned his head slowly to look at Pomfrey, regarding her with equal distaste. "I'm here with my friend Ron," Malfoy finally answered casually, but there was a hard, flinty quality to his gaze that made Ginny feel almost sorry for old Poppy.

To Ginny's surprise, the nurse directed her piercing gaze not at Ron, but at her. Pomfrey was looking at her intently, almost as if expecting something from her. Ginny stared back blankly, not for the first time wondering what the heck was going on.

"I see," Pomfrey said at last, giving an almost resigned sigh. "Mind that you don't get into any trouble. Come along for your check up, Miss Weasley."

Ginny did as she was told, but not before casting the enigmatic Slytherin a darting look. He ignored her, his gaze set on Pomfrey.

 _What is going on here?_

But she had no time to find out. Soon she was in Pomfrey's office getting her temperature and other vitals taken, and giving a thorough history of the progression of her headaches over the course of the last week.

It seemed that things were improving, although it didn't always feel that way to Ginny. Pomfrey seemed satisfied enough with her progress to allow her to participate in the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend outing, but she was quick to add that flying was still out of the question for the foreseeable future.

On emerging from the examination room Ginny was surprised to see Malfoy jump to his feet, brushing past her without so much as a glance and practically barging into the nurse's office.

"Madame Pomfrey, a word," he said imperiously, and Ginny could hear no more after the door was shut in his wake.

"How'd it go?" Ron asked quickly, slipping his arm into hers as he led her away from the Infirmary.

"Ron, what's going on?" Ginny snapped, but she didn't put real effort into resisting his drawing her away. "Why is everyone acting so weird? Malfoy _—_ what's going on with Malfoy?"

Her brother stared at her, cheeks flushing bright red. "Ginny….Draco was h-hurt a few months ago," he said quickly, licking his lips in a way she knew meant he was nervous. "There was...there was a Quidditch accident. Afterwards, Madame Pomfrey thought he did too much, and told him to take it easy. He thinks she's not letting him do enough now..."

Ginny shook her head, trying to understand. She could hear the ring of truth in her brother's words, but she knew with that strange, complete certainty that there was more he wasn't telling her. And while she wanted to know, desperately wanted to, part of her also...feared it. Part of her wanted to never, ever know.

"Ron, why won't you tell me the truth?" she burst at last, rounding on her brother with an intensity that made him take a step back.

"It is the truth," he said solemnly, blue eyes beseeching. "I just can't tell you more, Ginny. It's Draco's business…"

Ginny took in his words, trying to reconcile them with the gnawing, unsettled feeling clutching at her throat. She realized then that the hair on her arms was standing on edge, and goosebumps had broken over her skin. There was something there, something nagging at her, something hidden that she should be able to see.

 _A Quidditch accident..._

 _A flash of blinding white light… The explosion of pain… The rush of the wind, her body plummeting down into empty space…_

" _...Do you think you're doing enough? I'm very concerned about…"_

" _This is torture...I don't know_ _—_ _I don't know if I can do this, Ron. Help me...please…"_

"Ginny? Are you alright?" her brother was asking gently, his hand solid and comforting on her shoulder. "Are you having a headache?"

Ginny didn't reply. She had the sudden realization of what part of her had known all along: she had to speak to Draco Malfoy.


	4. Rediscovery

**retrouvaille**

 _(n) The joy of meeting or reuniting again after a long separation. Rediscovery._

~.~.~

 **Chapter Four: Rediscovery**

If her stalking _—_ er, sleuthing _—_ had taught her anything it was that Draco Malfoy was difficult to pin down; she'd have to approach him cautiously, as he had also proven difficult to predict. And since logic had been of little to no use up until now, Ginny decided to stick with her gut feeling.

Her gut was telling her that the chocolate frog she knew was somewhere in her trunk would be welcomed and appreciated _—_ and that she should locate Malfoy and find a way to be alone with him. She'd gleaned from her time as third wheel to the bromance between Ron and Malfoy that the Slytherin was doing some kind of an Advanced Potions apprenticeship with Snape, and that he had lab duties on Friday evenings.

In spite of her reservations when it came to the caustic Potions Master, Ginny had to admit that the apprenticeship Malfoy was doing sounded kind of awesome. In fact, it sounded like the kind of thing she herself would have loved to do. Charms work came incredibly easy to her, and she adored Flitwick; but it wasn't really challenging. Potions on the other hand was something she knew she had a talent for, but it was still incredibly hard work. It was subtle and precise and frustrating and mysterious...just the sort of thing that she had always been invariably drawn to.

For a moment she imagined herself delving into the secret, sensual world of Potions making, having all that power and knowledge at her disposal, and she felt an acute resentment towards Snape for not giving her the chance to do what Malfoy did.

Except...she kind of felt that if she approached him and asked for the opportunity, Severus Snape would say yes. She knew it as certainly as if it had already happened.

 _Weird._

In any case she was outside of Snape's laboratory now, and the door was ajar. Her head hurt, but no more than usual. It was her heart that she was worried about; it was racing so fast that she wondered if it wouldn't come flying out of her mouth. Gathering her courage, she pushed the door gently with a slightly trembling hand, finally admitting to herself that she was incredibly nervous.

Malfoy immediately glanced up from the supplies he was weighing on a measuring scale, and their eyes latched onto each other like magnets. And for the first time Ginny could finally acknowledge to herself that there was an unspoken something between them, a vague electricity hanging in the air whenever their eyes met.

"Can I help you?" he asked shortly, but his voice was deep and silky, almost like a caress. Her body was more alert than ever, more aware of him than ever, and at the same time she felt unaccountably at ease; she knew this. She knew what to do.

She approached him slowly, and he watched her from the other side of the work table without saying a word.

He'd rolled up the sleeves of his shirt halfway up to his elbows, and Ginny could see the soft, golden hairs that covered his beautiful arms. A feeling of deja vu, of strange familiarity, gripped her once more. She knew what those arms would feel like wrapped around her, she knew the way his heartbeat would feel against her cheek, and what handfuls of his hair would feel like between her trembling fingers.

Standing before him now, Ginny found that she was breathing heavily, as if she'd run here all the way from the pitch. She could hear her own heart pounding in her ears, like waves crashing on some distant shore.

Malfoy was standing perfectly still, but his eyes ran down the length of her face and settled on her quivering lips.

She couldn't be sure who had bridged the gap between them in the end. All she knew was the feel of his lips on hers as her eyelids fluttered closed, as tiny electric shocks broke out all over her body. Their kiss was at once firm and also impossibly soft; warm and salty sweet, their tongues tangled as his hands stilled her, one at her waist, the other at the base of her neck, angling her head up as his lips continued to ravish hers. The taste of him, the scent of him enveloping her, the colors exploding behind her eyes... This was somehow known, and also entirely new.

He broke away then, and for a brief moment his icy gray eyes met her startled brown ones.

"What _—_ " she began, and a second later the door to the dungeon flew open.

"Pardon me!" an elegantly disheveled Theodore Nott said nonchalantly, pretending to screen his face with his hand in a way that reminded Ginny of celebrities being accosted by reporters. "Carry on, don't mind me. Just here for some valerian sprigs for my, uh, private stocks."

Ginny watched in stunned silence as the Slytherin opened a cabinet on the far right, pulling out a small jar labeled _Valerian_ in clear, neat handwriting that somehow reminded her of her own.

"Oh bugger me, it's completely empty!" The brown-haired Slytherin swore with feeling.

"Uh...If you don't mind using dried valerian, there's a jar of it in the bottom left drawer," Ginny blurted suddenly, pointing in the direction she meant. She could see it clearly in her mind's eye, and sure enough the jar was there, filled almost to the brim for how rarely the non-fresh variant of the herb was used in Potions making.

But wait. How... _How did she know?_

Without turning to face him, she suddenly felt the weight of Malfoy's eyes on her, his uncharacteristically shocked expression.

"Smashing, Ginny!" Nott rejoiced, as he pilfered a small amount of the herb before sliding the jar back into place. He smiled broadly at her, tipping an invisible cap in her direction. "And by the way, it's great to see you guys are back. Draco's been miserable. Right, old chap?"

Nott's grin faltered when he met Malfoy's eyes, and he waved a hand in their general direction appeasingly. "Shit, I forgot. Never mind. Ignore me, I'm gone." He hastily exited, leaving Malfoy and Ginny immersed in a charged silence.

She turned abruptly to face him, meeting his gaze squarely. "Malfoy..."

And quite suddenly that had been entirely the wrong thing to say. The air of intimacy between them seemed to vanish in an instant, and she watched as whatever it was that she had seen reflected in his eyes closed off, like a fan snapped shut in her face.

She trod on, undeterred. "Nott said we're back together...were we together before? Together how?"

"Nott does a lot of drugs," the blond Slytherin said dryly.

"Please don't," she retorted sharply, seeking his eyes. "Please don't do this. Tell me the truth. Tell me what's going on, Malfoy. Please."

The blond was shaking his head, stubbornly avoiding her gaze. "I'm sorry, Weasley. It's not for me to answer your questions," he said with finality. For all intents he seemed unperturbed, but Ginny didn't miss the hint of pink that burned high on his sharp, perfect cheekbones. She wanted nothing more than to kiss him there, to trace the fine edge of his brow with her lips, working her way down to his supple, sweet and salty mouth and that glorious, glorious tongue.

He'd already turned away from her, back to weighing his stupid asphodel, and it was all she could do not to tug at his sleeve like Oliver Twist begging, _"Please, sir, may I have some more?"_ and _Please just answer my questions you insufferable git, because I am going to lose my mind if you don't!_

"Why not?" she demanded hotly.

"Because I don't want to hurt you." He was still facing the scale, the asphodel powder, but his hands were very still and it felt as if every last cell in his body was tuned in to hers.

The sound of a heavy bolt unlatching captured both of their attentions. A moment later the raven haired Potions Master emerged from his private entrance into the lab, taking in Ginny's presence with slightly raised eyebrows.

"Mr. Malfoy, you are expected in the Headmaster's office," Snape announced curtly."You may take leave for the evening."

Malfoy nodded, looking distinctly relieved. Ginny watched him walk away, while he looked anywhere but at her. She realized then that he was probably tremendously shaken. All this time he'd feigned disinterest and nonchalance, but she could clearly see how she affected him.

 _I'm doing this to him._

The thought was sobering, and she decided then not to run after him, pestering him with questions all the way to Dumbledore's office, as she'd originally intended. She was still desperate to know, and she could sense she was so close to getting answers, but she also didn't want to hurt this strange, beautiful boy. And she could. Somehow, she could.

Turning to face the dark-eyed Potions Master, Ginny took a deep breath before saying what she knew she must. "Professor Snape _—_ "

"...Ms. Weasley?"

"Would I be welcome here? For your apprenticeship. Would I be welcome?"

Snape looked at her for a heartbeat, and she thought that for once she read something other than disdain in his startlingly black eyes. "Of course," he said finally, giving a slight nod. He turned and climbed back into what she'd always thought of as the Snape Door _—_ except she didn't know it until now.

Pausing for a moment, Snape added before closing the door: "Good evening, Ms. Weasley. You know how to close up here."

And she did.

~.~.~

In the Room of Requirement, sensible furniture surrounded a simple oval table. Dim lighting reflected anything but the brightness of this Saturday morning. Resting on the table, a metal object which Ginny immediately recognized as a Pensieve. She could hear birds chirping and the light flutter of wings, the musical sound of water rushing by, as if a rivulet were gently flowing from just behind the sofa she sat on. Ginny recognized with gratitude Hermione's thoughtful touches to the setting, designed to make everyone more at ease.

The witch in question took a deep, steadying breath before speaking. "Yes, Ginny. You and Draco Malfoy were in a relationship."

Ginny felt herself react with shock, but deep down she knew that she already knew.

"Bloody hell, Hermione," Ron swore softly from beside Ginny, nervously running his hands through his head of shockingly red hair. "Should we even be doing this?"

Hermione ignored him, for which Ginny was grateful.

"Ginny," she began hesitantly, her brown eyes kind and at the same time appraising, "I'm sorry to tell you that you've lost your memory. You underwent a complex trauma, and every effort on our part to help restore your memory has seemed to do more harm than good."

Ginny stared straight ahead, shaking her head in denial though she immediately knew it to be true.

"Until now, that is…" Hermione added, and Ginny's eyes flew to her friend's face.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that for once all of us agreed to let you figure certain things out on your own, and it seems to be working. I also think that Professor Snape's potions have helped your brain heal over time. It's probably a combination of both."

Ginny remained silent, trying to take all of this in. She had so many questions that she didn't even know where to begin.

"What trauma?" she said at last. She could _feel_ Ron's nervousness rolling off him like waves, his occasional nervous twitches as he sat in stubborn silence.

 _And why are you all so scared of how I will react if you tell me truth for once?_

"It's hard to answer that...I guess we never really found out exactly how it happened, and that's why it's been so hard to treat," Hermione said slowly. "The staff at St. Mungo's are just as baffled if not more."

"So what _do_ you know?" Ginny snapped. "Please. Just tell me…"

Hermione sighed, shaking her head as if frustrated that the truth still eluded her. "We know for a fact that you took a Bludger to the head during a Quidditch match, and fell into a coma… but hours before that, something happened in the Potions lab. It seems that you were working on an advanced potion, and it backfired. There was an explosion, possibly fumes or particles...whatever it was, it's seems that your memory and reflexes were affected."

"You should have never been on the pitch that day, Ginny," Ron blurted at last, the note of despair in his voice making something in her chest catch. "But we didn't know what had happened until after the accident."

Ginny realized that at some point she had put her head in her hands, that she was trembling. This was incredibly bizarre and surreal...it felt entirely as if it had happened to someone else.

"Why didn't you guys tell me this before?" she said weakly, too confused to feel angry.

"It's hard to explain," Hermione said quietly. "But I can show you."

Ron's eyes darted to the brunette, confusion written plainly across his face. "Hermione," he said pointedly, _"are you sure about this?"_

"No," she answered simply, looking at Ron directly for the first time. "I can't be sure. But there are precedents for this...I've been reading about it for weeks. Draco the same. We've found some cases in which showing re-experiencing through the Pensieve can be a powerful trigger for memories."

"Are there cases in which it can hurt?" Ron asked, doubt plain in his voice.

But Ginny wasn't listening.

 _Draco._

She wanted to know, wanted to understand what had happened to her mind, what was happening even now. And she was desperate to know what this thing between her and Draco Malfoy could possibly be. She knew now that there had been invisible strings tying her to him, they'd been there all along. But how?

While she'd been lost in her musings, it seemed that Hermione and Ron had come to some sort of understanding. The brunette was now applying the tip of her wand to her own temple with grim determination.

 _"Wait,"_ Ron said suddenly. "I'll do it. It should be me. For Draco…" he trailed off, and after gazing at him for a long moment, Hermione nodded.

Ginny watched as Hermione applied her wand to her brother's temple, extracting a thin, transparent filament that Ginny knew contained Ron's memories. The thread floated in the Pensieve, swirling around, coiling and uncoiling around itself, like an endless ribbon.

"We should all go," Hermione said suddenly, grasping Ron and Ginny by the hand.

Ginny was breathing heavily once again, her entire body was shaking, the vague headache she'd carried all day now pooling behind her eyes as ripples of electricity broke out throughout her cranium.

"Are you sure about this?" Ron asked her, worry evident in his bright blue eyes.

Ginny nodded, and a moment later she was being pulled in, deep into swirling mists, her hands still clasped by Ron and Hermione on either side.

Around them the Great Hall materialized, and she spotted herself immediately sitting beside Ron and Hermione at the Hogwarts table at some point in the past. Waves of red hair were spilling down her back, almost to her waist, her lips stained cherry red, her eyes the color of amber. She watched herself speaking to Ron, fascinated at seeing the freckles mapped out across her cheeks, which make-up never seemed to conceal entirely; it was actually kind of adorable. Again the surreal, bizarre feeling that somehow made perfect sense.

"We've been working together in the Advanced Potions apprenticeship. We've become friends. I've gotten to know him, and I like him a lot," she was saying defensively, while Ron rolled his eyes.

"Come on, guys, the War is over. We've _all_ changed. He was wrong in what he did back then, but he's not that person anymore. And anyway when was the last time Draco did something truly evil?" She could hear the ring of conviction in her own words, the same words that her friends that her friends had parroted back to her in defense of Draco Malfoy not so long ago, and she could practically feel Ron and Hermione's uneasiness as they exchanged worried looks at the table.

The real Ron and Hermione were still standing beside her, their hands solidly clasped in hers, and she squeezed at them gratefully.

Ginny's eyes sought out Draco, and found him immediately at his usual spot at the Slytherin stable. She watched as the memory version of herself caught Draco's eyes and they shared a smile from across the Great Hall before his expression rearranged itself into a haughty smirk that was entirely more like the Draco Malfoy she thought she knew.

The surroundings began to shift, the Great Hall slowly morphing into the outdoors. Ron walked along the path that led to the Quidditch pitch, and stopped suddenly when he encountered Draco and Ginny standing face to face in the middle of the clearing, holding each other in silence, his chin resting on her shoulder. Ron watched them for a moment longer before turning away, walking back the way he'd come.

Mists once again, then Draco, Ron, Ginny and Hermione all sitting at the same table in the library, the boys playing Wizard's Chess in silence. Hermione and Ron's feet were touching under the table, unbeknownst to the others.

The landscape changed once again. Ginny watched herself stumbling almost drunkenly onto the pitch, chided by Madam Hooch. "You're late, Weasley! Put your helmet on!" Her eyes were dazed, unseeing. Something was wrong, she knew. She watched herself climbing onto her broom and shooting up in the direction of the ragged clouds, rising higher and higher in a straight trajectory before a Bludger caught her in the side of the head, knocking her out of sky and sending her spiraling down to the ground in a mass of red and gold. She watched as Draco swooped down, desperately reaching out to grab at her fluttering cape, at her hair, at anything… but she was slipping through the tips of his fingers. The look of horror, of despair, on his perfect face was something she might never be able to forget. And suddenly Severus Snape was on his feet in the stands, wand aimed unwaveringly at Ginny's falling form, and at the last minute her fall seemed to slow. She bounced when she hit the ground, and then she was still.

Ginny's entire body was trembling as she watched herself lie broken on the grass, but she steeled herself, brushing away at Ron's offer to return. She had to continue. She _had_ to know.

In the hospital wing, lying in bed with bandages covering every last part of her body. She would stay there for months and months. Her family (including Harry) visited, her mother never left her side. And Draco. Draco was there every day, worry evident in every single one of his features. Sometimes he had his eyes closed for what seemed like hours, as if he were conjuring or praying or both.

And now she was opening her eyes, eyelids fluttering. Her friends were there, but it was Draco at her bedside, Draco peering into her face, an expression of absolute joy as he clasped her hands tightly.

And then her eyes connected with his, and immediately widened in horror. A shattering scream rose from deep in her throat, her wandless hand striking out and connecting brutally with Draco's chest. The burst of magic sent him flying back into the wall. His head smacked the ancient stone and he crumpled to the ground like a broken doll.

Ron and Madame Pomfrey rushed to Draco's prone, unconscious form as Hermione stared in horrified silence at the girl thrashing and crying hysterically on the bed, while around the room objects shook and rattled, the pitcher of water on the nightstand shattering into a million pieces.

As Ginny watched the scene unfold she felt her knees give, and only Ron and Hermione were holding her up. She could feel the Pensieve tug at her, but she fought against it, willing herself to stay. She had to know, she repeated to herself, like a mantra. _She had to know._

"It's agitation not uncommonly seen in the aftermath of traumatic brain injury," a mediwizard was saying, his tone neutral. "With treatment it will most likely subside. The real problem is that she is in an amnestic state and it is unclear if she will ever regain her memory. She has lost at least twelve months worth of memories, if not more. Procedural memory, muscle memory will likely still be there."

Draco was sitting with his blond head in his hands, shoulders slumped in absolute defeat. He looked so small, and she wished for nothing more than to gather him in her arms and comfort him. Molly Weasley's arm was around him, as she silently cried.

"I know this is devastating news," the mediwizard went on, his tone softening. "But it's not hopeless. The most important thing to do is to go back to life as usual, so that she can reintegrate into her routine and be exposed to triggers for further recovery."

Now in Madame Pomfrey's office: Dumbledore, Snape, Ginny's family and Draco. And a woman she knew to be Narcissa Malfoy, hand protectively on her son's shoulder. "We've tried to tell her many times about the nature of your relationship, Draco," Madame Pomfrey was saying. "Each time she reacts in greater distress. She simply doesn't remember, she cannot comprehend, and she is in a very frail state. The more we choose to impose this reality on her, the more likely it is she will continue to reject it. I'm sorry, but I will have to ask you to stay away from her until she heals. And even then, you might need to just stay away." The pain in Draco's eyes was evident, but he nodded assent. "I understand."

There she was, back at the school again, walking in complete oblivion. She still believed that she'd been away for a week due to her "migraines." People whispered in her wake, despite very strict instructions from all the Heads of Houses. There was Draco, hovering near at all times. Feigning indifference, his face a mask until just the moment when he was out of her sight.

Ron, Hermione, Harry and Draco in the Room of Requirement.

"I have to be near her. She has to be near me," Draco was saying defiantly, but there was a vulnerability there that was painful to see. "The mediwizard at St. Mungo's said the most important thing is to go back to her routine. For the past year before her accident, her routine was me. _Us._ There wasn't a day when we weren't together, you know that. How can she get any of her memory back if they won't let me come near her?…"

"But it could hurt her, Draco," Harry was saying gravely. "It could make her memory loss worse."

"If we tell her what our relationship was like," Draco countered. "We don't have to tell her anything about me."

Ron was nodding. "If you're just around, in the vicinity, if she gets used to seeing you without freaking out..."

"Yes, exactly," Draco replied quickly, shooting Ron a grateful look.

Draco and Ron standing outside of the Great Hall. This memory Ginny instantly recognized for having been there herself.

"The headaches are still just as bad, I can tell just by looking at her!" Draco was churning with hurt and fury, but was clearly trying to keep it contained. "She might collapse any second, and I don't understand how you all can leave her alone like this. Do you think you're doing enough? I'm very concerned about the fact that Ginny has yet to recover any of her memory, but nobody seems to be doing a damn thing except wait."

Ron was jabbing his finger into Draco's face. "Get off it, mate. She's my sister, I care about this just as much as you do, if not more, Draco."

Ginny saw herself walking up to them, and Draco's face instantly becoming a mask of indifference as he turned away from the sight of her.

In the Quidditch pitch, an agitated Draco circling around Ron, running his hands through his hair as if he would tear it out, silvery gray eyes wavering with unshed tears. "But this...this is too much...she looks at me like I'm a stranger, like I'm no one, or worse than that. To be near her, to have to pretend every day...This is _torture..._ I don't know—I don't know if I can do this, Ron. Help me...please…"

He was covering his eyes with a trembling hand, ashamed of his tears but unable to stop them.

"I'm sorry, mate," Ron was saying gently, genuinely moved to near tears himself. "I'm so sorry. But you have to keep going because she's getting better. She's getting so much better since you've been around…"

Mists enveloped them once more, and Ginny felt the blessed tug of the Pensieve, drawing her back to what was supposed to be the real world. A moment of disorientation as she was back in her own body, sitting on the sofa in the Room of Requirement, her hands still clasped by her friends, at once a support and an anchor to the harsh reality.

Her heart was breaking, and her face was covered in tears, but for the first time in a long time she felt something like peace.

"I have to find Draco," she said, when she could speak at last.

~.~.~

Slytherin practice had just ended and Draco Malfoy was packing the team's Quidditch trunk, saving the Golden Snitch for last.

Ginny hung by the stands, waiting for the last of Draco's teammates to amble away and trying her best to gather some semblance of calm. She watched him for a moment longer, her heart overcome by an intense feeling of tenderness she never knew that she was really capable of until now. The feeling softened all of her edges, filled all of the empty spaces that in the years since Tom Riddle seemed to weigh down her battered heart.

" _Draco,"_ she said softly, her voice breaking as if a huge knot had formed in her throat, and for a moment she thought he hadn't heard her.

But he had. He stood very still, as if frozen. After what seemed like an eternity he turned to look at her, eyes scanning every inch of her features. He seemed to doubt, and she smiled to let him know it was alright. Even then he stared at her in silence for a long moment, the distance between them somehow never greater.

"I used to think that I'd know the moment you remembered me, because you would call me by my name. Because you'd look at me… the way you're looking at me now." He smiled softly. "But you don't remember, do you?"

The knot in her throat seemed to swell, and the sadness she saw in his eyes was enough to make her heart ache, heavy and full.

"I'm so sorry, Draco," she said, her voice small.

"Don't be sorry. It's not your fault," he replied in a tone that brokered no argument. He walked towards her slowly, arms folded across his chest, and she realized that he was giving her ample time to withdraw, should she need to. The inherent caution in his treatment of her brought to mind all that Draco had gone through, and her heart contracted.

He was standing before her now. They regarded each other in silence and she wished for nothing more than to launch herself into his arms.

Instead she spoke. "Ron showed me...in the Pensieve. I saw everything I've done...everything I've done to you. I'm so, so sorry..." she trailed off, unable to continue as hot tears spilled onto her cheeks.

"It's not your fault," he said again with kindness. He slowly raised his hand to her face and she leaned into his touch, the gentle motion of his thumb brushing away at her tears only making her cry all the more.

"And you love me?" she demanded pleadingly, staring into his stormy gray eyes.

He smiled again, drawing her to him. She instantly melted into his arms, grasping at the fabric of his jumper as his chin rested on her shoulder.

"And I love you, Ginny Weasley," Draco whispered into her ear. "More than anything... I know it doesn't mean much to you now."

Ginny sighed, deciding not to tell him just then that he was so totally wrong; to her, it meant everything.

 **~.~.~**

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 **A/N:** I feel hopeful that Ginny will eventually remember Draco, and if she doesn't I hope that she will love him as much as she did before, or more. But that is a story for another time!

Lia: I tried to pull towards humor, but the story kept trying to get sad. I hope you enjoyed it all the same!

Beta: you're a life saver, thanks a million.

All: thanks for reading!


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